


gather all your scattered prayers

by starstrung



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: If Dunwall is to maintain its stability, it will need the support of the Abbey. Corvo does not anticipate how the Outsider reacts to this.





	

If Dunwall is to recover, to gain any sort of stability, it will need the help of the Abbey.

Two High Overseers dead in the span of a month. It does not inspire trust, but if Emily is to secure her claim on the throne, she needs the backing of the Abbey.

And so Dunwall Tower opens its doors to the Abbey, hosting its Overseers and Oracles and clergymen. Corvo keeps his Mark covered at all times, and makes himself listen to the strange metallic music they play even when it makes him feel faint and poisoned.

One day, after a rousing speech from one of the Oracles in support of the Kaldwins, the guests are talking amongst themselves, wine and food being passed around. Corvo is tired, the constant pressure of having Overseers watching his every move (he’s been careful, but there are always _rumors_ ) and the lull making him inattentive. Without warning, and without his consent, he Blinks clear across the room, ending up at the far wall.

Luckily, no one quite manages to see him vanish and reappear thirty feet from where he was. However, he does get some surprised looks, one from a nearby clergy member who clutches at his drink.

“My Royal Protector,” he says. “I didn’t see you there at all. My, they trained you to be quite stealthy, didn’t they?” Fear and distrust brews in his eyes, as well as in the eyes of the Oracle that he is speaking to.

“My apologies,” Corvo manages, heart still beating with astonishment at what has just happened. He has never lost control of his powers like this before. “It is a force of habit to mask the sound of my footsteps.”

“And you are quite skilled,” the Oracle says. “I’m sure we all feel much better with you watching over the Empress.”

Corvo wonders tiredly whether she realizes how insincere she sounds. The last Empress, after all, died under his watch. He doubts anyone in this room has forgotten that.

He manages to school his features into an agreeable smile, although he suspects it is more of a grimace from the way they both recoil slightly. Diplomacy has never been his strongest suit, and this is looking less than salvageable. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.”

As soon as he’s safely away from prying eyes, he tears off his glove, examining the mark on his hand. It looks the same. When he concentrates, a small pulse of wind leaves his hand, plucking at the pages of an open book and twisting the angle of a painting hanging on the wall. Corvo re-adjusts the painting, and hopes that this has been the end of it.

-

But it happens again. Emily is talking to the man who they’re thinking of instating as the new High Overseer. She is eleven now, and already as sharp as her mother. He can see the surprised looks on the faces of those she speaks with, and even though he regrets that so much has been put on her shoulders, he cannot help being proud.

Corvo keeps a safe distance, following behind as they walk through the grounds. Every trace of what took place here has been taken away, the watchtower disassembled, the metal barriers destroyed. The Tower is as it was before Jessamine was taken away from him, at least on the outside.

There is a shriek from one of the groundskeepers, and Corvo turns to see a swarm of rats circling around a hedge.

People scatter, screaming, and the rats snap at their heels. Corvo and every nearby guard jumps forward immediately, shooting at the swarm with their pistols, and slashing at them with their swords. It’s like trying to fight a cloud of smoke, but eventually the swarm dissipates, rats scurrying in separate directions to whatever dark spots they can find.

Corvo makes sure to assign guards to sweeping the sewers, trying to find out where the rats originated. He tries his best to act like this was an isolated event, that these were probably not plague rats. Dunwall is free of the plague, and Emily Kaldwin has helped it be so. That is what must be believed.

But he feels the familiar burning across the back of his hand, and he knows that these rats did not come by here by accident.

-

“I need to talk to you,” Corvo says down to his hand, the Mark bared. He feels foolish. “This has to end, otherwise it could put Emily in danger. Enough games.” And he lies down and tries to sleep. If the Outsider has heard him, he will let Corvo slip into the Void, like he has done countless times before. Not recently, but—

He takes a deep breath, thinks of crumbling stonework and depthless black eyes, and sleeps.

In the morning, Corvo wakes up slowly, feeling well-rested and peaceful. He has about two minutes of consciousness behind him before he sits abruptly upright in bed. His room is exactly the same. Morning light streams through the window.

The Outsider did not answer his call.

Corvo drags his hands down his face. He has no idea what to do now, and he’s slept too long. He can’t afford to be late. It is more crucial than it has ever been to keep the Abbey from suspecting.

-

It keeps happening, although nothing as disastrous as what happened in the gardens. Still, the guests are tense, and Corvo has noticed Overseers wandering in the halls where they are not meant to go, searching for signs of heresy. Their hounds snarl at him as he walks by.

Once, during lunch, time slows for an entire fifteen minutes, but for him it’s stretched out to nearly two hours. He spends the whole time trying not to move, unable to get up from his seat in case someone sees him leave with unnatural speed.

He Blinks two more times without meaning to, ends up on the roof one time, in the middle of the night, the tiles slippery with frost beneath his feet.

Clearly, the Outsider will require something more drastic of him in order to get his attention. _If he really wants to meet me, he could start by being a bit more interesting_.

It takes a good measure of his skills in stealth to accomplish, but Corvo manages to smuggle certain items up to his rooms. A swath of dark purple silk cloth, taken straight from the royal seamstress. A length of barbed wire, some candles.

There is a chest he keeps beneath his bed, wood so heavy that it blocks the sound of what sings inside. He opens it for the first time in months, and has to grit his teeth. It’s harder to bear than he remembers it being, that seductive pull. The carvings are even more beautiful and otherworldly after not seeing them for so long, and he can’t help himself from tracing one reverently.

He pulls himself away, shaken. Usually, the Outsider’s influence has protected him from the madness brought on by the runes. He wonders, perhaps, if keeping them locked up, with no one to use or cherish has somehow made them louder. Or if he’s being punished.

If he can hear it so loudly, he’s worried that others will as well. He looks to the door, listening for any sound coming from the hallway. There are too many Overseers in the tower, and they would know what an Outsider’s rune sounds like. But for the moment, there is nothing.

He props the chest open, letting the runes try to sing him into an endless worship. He drapes the open chest lid in the purple fabric, twists the barbed wire around the folds, lights the candles, and the runes hum as if pleased.

His eyes have gone half-lidded. He feels _soothed_ , even though he knows what reckless stupidity it is to erect an Outsider shrine when almost every high-ranking member of the Abbey is under the same roof as him. But that part of his mind — the part that hasn’t been stolen away by the song yet — has dimmed.

Corvo considers the shrine. There is something else he needs to do, he thinks. And, led by the singing, he strips.

He kneels on the thin rug, feeling a heaviness in his bones that he usually associates with a deep, restful sleep, only he feels more awake than ever. He needs to pledge himself, he needs this, he _wants_ this. Something to give himself up for, something that has need of him, either to serve or just to play with. Before, he had the Empress, and now—

And now, he has the Outsider. The runesong has coalesced into one low hum, resonating in his ribcage until he’s shaking with it. The sensation travels lower, coiling with heat.

He’s hard, he realizes. Something about the danger of having Overseers just down the hallway, something about how he knows without a doubt that the Outsider watches over him now. The back of his neck prickles, but keeps his head bowed.

“Look at you. When you choose to offer yourself, you do it so prettily,” says a voice, and Corvo gasps. He keeps himself looking down.

“You came,” he says.

“It has been a long time, my dear Corvo,” says the Outsider.

-

He is held down, pinned by some strong force. He can only see shadows coalescing at the edges of his vision, and when he tries to fight its hold, it tightens almost painfully down upon him. The Outsider watches him struggle patiently, as if waiting for him to tire himself out.

“Will you be still?” the Outsider says, a cold hand settling over Corvo’s heart.

That small touch, and Corvo’s eyes go wide, realizing what is about to happen. “Yes,” he says, surprising himself. He stops moving, and waits.

“Good,” the Outsider says, his voice surprisingly gentle, and with a flick of his wrists, he is completely naked, dispelling whatever glamour he uses to give himself the appearance of clothes. Corvo only has a short amount of time to take in surprisingly broad shoulders, a lean build, narrow hips, before the Outsider is pushing his cock into Corvo’s mouth.

There is a delay as Corvo, taken by surprise, freezes at the sudden intrusion. Then he is opening up willingly, taking the Outsider in as much as he can manage. He finds that this is more than he thought, the Outsider pushing in slowly until his balls brush against Corvo’s chin.

Fingers curl slowly, luxuriously, into Corvo’s hair, adjusting the angle and holding him there. Corvo adapts his breathing, hands trying and failing to find purchase above his head where they are being held.

The Outsider fucks into his mouth slowly and viciously, dragging his cock in and out at a lazy pace. The Outsider seems more concerned with watching Corvo shaking beneath him — his lips stretched wide, eyes losing their focus — than finding his release.

Every half minute or so, as if he has calculated the exact timing of it, he reaches behind him to give Corvo’s cock a few cursory pulls, keeping him from going completely soft. Every touch — no matter how passing — feels like madness incarnate. Corvo cannot keep himself from writhing, chasing after the Outsider’s touch.

The pace slows, and the Outsider pulls out, the tip of his cock sliding wetly over Corvo’s lips.

“You said you would be still,” he says, keeping his hand in Corvo’s hair and forcing Corvo to look up into those inky black eyes.

“I — Sorry. I will. I promise,” Corvo says. His voice sounds raw and ragged, and the Outsider’s eyes widen with it. His fingers trace over the bob of Corvo’s throat as if to find gravel lodged there. He presses down, and not very gently.

“Please,” Corvo says, choked, and it takes every measure of self-control he can muster to keep himself still. This time, when the Outsider reaches behind him to stroke him, he doesn’t quite need the help.

When the Outsider pushes in again his eyes have gone startlingly bright. The pace increases from the slow, dragging fucking to something far less generous.

“What would this Empire do without you, Corvo,” the Outsider says, his voice harsher than Corvo has ever heard it.

“Without you toiling away at its feet, keeping it from crumbling into the ocean like the rotting refuse it is? How much sickness would swarm the streets now if you were not here to drag the city up out of its own filth, I wonder.” The pace is almost unbearable now, the Outsider’s hips snapping forward with dizzying force.

“I didn’t think anything could save this city, but it isn’t really saved, is it, Corvo? They’re still waiting for you to slip. For your mask to chip away so they can tie you by the neck and leave you to hang. Everything you have built is one tip of the balance away from breaking into chaos all over again.” His thumb rests again over Corvo’s throat, feeling the slide of his cock beneath the skin. Corvo has long since closed his eyes, tears beading against his will beneath his eyelashes.

“And you know that, don’t you? You know—” and the Outsider is spilling into Corvo’s throat, hand tightening painfully in Corvo’s hair. Corvo swallows as best as he can, his throat burning.

“Is that—” Corvo has to pause to gather his breath, “—what you were doing, then?” he asks. “Tipping the balance?”

The Outsider gives him an odd look, head tilting to the side.

“Oh, Corvo,” the Outsider sighs. “One way or another, the balance will always tip. And you are so good at trying to make it tip in your favor, after all.”

A small jar of oil has materialized in his hands, even though he has not left Corvo to go look for it. But Corvo doesn’t let himself look away from the Outsider’s eyes.

“Why then?” Corvo asks.

“Why not?” The Outsider says with a shrug, a surprisingly human gesture. “Here you are playing host to the very men and women who set their hounds on my worshippers and grind my runes into dust. I had to be sure.”

The Outsider spreads oil over his hand until it glistens in the candlelight, and now Corvo is breathless with anticipation. “Sure of what?” he asks.

“Sure that you remembered just whose Mark is burned onto your hand,” the Outsider says.

When he wraps a slick hand around Corvo’s cock, Corvo isn’t expecting it. He arches up, a shout half-pulled out of him before he remembers to be quiet.

There were guests staying on this wing, he was sure of it. He can’t remember which ones, exactly. Perhaps an Oracle, a few members of the clergy. He can’t remember, and he should. He should be aware of anyone in—

Then the Outsider lowers himself down on his cock, and Corvo forgets again to be quiet.


End file.
